Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 03 - Trouble at Glacier

by Minnie Crockwell

  Amanda’s blue eyes flashed with anger, and I was taken aback for a moment. What happened to her grief? Or was this mixed bag of emotions her way of dealing with loss?

  “In a weak moment, I told my uncle about it, and he decided he would drive over here from Washington State to meet us. To see how John was acting. I don’t think Uncle Steve liked what he saw.”

  “Oh! I didn’t know he’d had a chance to see John before…” I didn’t finish. “Remember, you were looking for him?”

  “We found him. He pulled in right after you must have, I think. Anyway, John and I got into it in front of him, and he was furious. I’ve never seen my uncle so angry. I knew he was mad on the phone when I talked to him, but I thought he would have calmed down by the time he got here. He told me to leave John. Said he’d take me back to Washington with him, that I could start over there. He didn’t hold back in front of John.”

  She studied the bruises on the knuckles of her right hand, the ones I’d seen yesterday. I wondered what they were from.

  I couldn’t help but think that the list of people who might want to kill John was certainly growing.

  “I’m probably going to regret this question, Amanda, but is your uncle…abusive as well? He seemed so rough with you yesterday when he pulled you from me.”

  She swung her head to look at me.

  “No! Not to me, he’s not. He’s just very protective. He’s my only living relative. My parents died in a car accident when I was fifteen, and he took care of me. Well, he and his wife did, but they divorced within a year. She didn’t like me very much. I think she was jealous of our relationship. Uncle Steve and I were pretty close. He moved away to Washington after I married John.”

  I nodded, a clearer picture forming. A thought had been nagging at me. Something she had said.

  “You said John was angry at Jackson? Why?”

  “Jackson was the one who fired him. We both worked for Jackson. I thought Jackson was going to shoot John on the spot when Marsha was killed. Jackson was close to Rick and Marsha.” She looked down at her hands again.

  Jackson? So, now Jackson had hated John too? Good gravy!

  Your list of suspects grows, I see, Ben said. I am not at all sure that the grieving widow could not be considered as well. She has a bit of a temper, I see.

  No kidding!

  I took a chance.

  “What happened to your knuckles, Amanda? They look pretty sore.”

  She looked up quickly, then back to her right hand.

  “Oh, I was shredding some meat the other day with a new kitchen tool I found at a store. It kind of bruised my knuckles.”

  “Gee, that sounds like a brutal tool. What is it?”

  She shrugged and took a sip of water.

  “Some sort of shredding thing. I don’t remember the name.”

  I believe she prevaricates, Ben said.

  About shredding meat? Oh wait! I almost gasped aloud. If one could shred meat with a tool, could one use the same tool to shred a man’s neck? What did it look like?

  I wondered how I could get inside her trailer to see the tool. I’d have to pretend to be an avid cook to insist on seeing it. Could I pull off avid cook? That certainly was not me!

  No, cooking does not seem to be a happy occupation for you, Minerva.

  I would have liked to make a face at Ben, but Amanda would surely see .

  I was just about to open my mouth when she rose abruptly.

  “Well, I’d better get back to the RV. I’ve taken up enough of your time, Minnie. Thanks for letting me cry all over your shoulder.”

  “You’re welcome, Amanda. Let me walk you back to your RV. It’s not safe out right now.” I truly believed that, and I wanted to see this shredding tool.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks. I’ll sprint back.” She half smiled.

  I grew desperate.

  “Well, I’d worry about you. And I’d like to see that shredding tool you mentioned. You see, I’m quite the avid cook, and I have been looking for something just like it.”

  Oh, gosh, that sounded hokey, didn’t it, Ben? No one says “I’m quite the avid cook.”

  She appears reluctant, he said.

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure where I put it after I washed it,” she said.

  I pressed.

  “Ohhhh,” I said in my best pretty-please voice. “Could you just take a quick peek in your kitchen? I would love to find something just like it.”

  She chewed on her lip, then sighed.

  “Okay. Come on over.”

  I grinned and followed her down the steps.

  Minerva, please have a care. You do realize you are asking to see what might potentially be a murder weapon? And that the murder weapon would most likely be in the hands of the murderer?

  Gotcha, Ben! I’m good. I’ll be careful.

  I was obsessed with seeing this device and not really thinking the matter through. But little Amanda? A killer? It hardly seemed possible. However, that flash in her eyes had surprised me. Besides, what if her uncle had access to the shredding tool? Or alternatively, Amanda had said that her uncle had bear claws. I imagine he could have fashioned them into a weapon…if he wanted to simulate a bear attack.

  And this is what you call being careful? Ben asked with a snort.

  Not really, I conceded.

  I followed Amanda to her RV. A gentle wind rustled through the dark trees. It felt quite eerie out, given the violent murder of the night before. If I wasn’t following the killer to her RV, then he was probably still out there somewhere. I tried to tell myself rationally that he was probably sitting in his RV or tent or apartment telling himself he had gotten away with murder.

  By my use of the word apartment, I now included Jackson in the list of suspects. I could hardly believe that the handsome ranger was capable of such a brutal crime, but what did I know about revenge? Or murderers for that matter? I didn’t understand the mentality. Apparently that didn’t stop me from running into them on a regular basis, however.

  You have added the handsome and dashing Ranger Jackson to your list of suspects, Minerva? That must be difficult for you. I heard the gently mocking note in Ben’s voice, but I ignored it.

  It seems like John was at the center of a ring of people who hated him, many of them interconnected, I said silently. Any one of them could have done it.

  We arrived at Amanda’s RV, and she opened the door. I took a deep breath and followed her in. I had to admit to being a bit squeamish. Although John had not been murdered in the RV, I couldn’t rid myself of the aura of violent death.

  I stepped inside a fairly ordinary fifth wheel. A brown fabric sofa and two easy chairs nestled against two of the walls across from a small kitchen area. A television dominated the wall next to the small steps leading up to the bathroom and bedroom. The whole of the RV looked fairly clean.

  “I’ll see if I can find it,” Amanda said. “I really can’t remember what it’s called.” While I waited, she rummaged about in kitchen cabinet drawers, pushing things aside. I hated to do this to her, but I needed to see the device.

  She looked over her shoulder toward me. “Have a seat,” she said. “I’m still looking.”

  I sat, and she started opening cupboard drawers.

  “You know how it is,” she said. “So many drawers and cabinets, you can’t remember where you put things.”

  “Yes, I do know. I’ve got the same problem.” A kinder person would have told her to bring it over another day when she found it, but not I. I did not like this newfound aspect of myself, this dog-with-a-bone drive of refusing to let something go when I was “sleuthing.”

  Which I am not doing, by the way, Ben.

  Ben cleared his throat but said nothing.

  Amanda straightened and turned. “Look, I really can’t find it,” she said. I stood, accepting defeat, but not gracefully.

  I glanced down at the last drawer she had opened which was still ajar. There, in full view, was a tool which I could
safely say would be capable of ripping a man’s neck out. Dark, black, and made of a thick sturdy-looking plastic, the device resembled brass knuckles but had claws which extended from the handle. I could see how Amanda would have bruised her knuckles as she slipped her hand inside the grip and applied pressure.

  “Is that it?” I said with a forced smile.

  Amanda looked down. “Oh! There it is. I probably looked right at it.”

  She pulled the device out of the drawer, and I stiffened.

  Minerva. Please make your excuses and leave now!

  I can’t, Ben.

  She slipped her fingers in the grip and held it up.

  “I think it’s called meat claws or something like that.”

  “Yes, I imagine it would be,” I said.

  “Here, take a look at it,” she said, extending the claws to me.

  Something about fingerprints came to mind, and I declined.

  “Oh, no. Thanks! I just wanted to see it. Now I know what it looks like, I can find one in the store. What an ingenious idea,” I said with a grin.

  She lowered it and studied it for a moment.

  “Yeah,” she said. She offered nothing more, and I turned to leave.

  “Well, I’d better get back to my RV,” I said.

  A knock on the door startled us both, but the voice I heard on the other side startled me more.

  “Amanda,” a man called out. “Are you in there? I’ve just got a few minutes, but I wanted to see you.”

  I recognized Jackson’s voice.

  “Just a minute,” Amanda called out. She threw me a quick, red-faced look, and moved to open the door.

  “Honey, I just wanted to see if you’re okay,” Jackson said before Amanda cut him off.

  Chapter Six

  “Someone’s here,” Amanda said to Jackson quickly.

  I looked down at Jackson and he looked up at me with rounded eyes.

  Ranger Jackson surprises us, Ben said.

  I was so taken aback, I could hardly answer him.

  Even if Amanda had worked for Jackson at Yellowstone, even if he had been checking on a victim’s spouse, it was unlikely he would have called her honey. It hadn’t been a particularly paternalistic endearment, nor was Jackson any older than Amanda.

  Amanda turned to me.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Jackson climbed up into the RV.

  “Oh, this is none of my business,” I said, although I wasn’t actually practicing that philosophy.

  Jackson looked at me.

  “I guess you heard me so you probably guessed,” he said. “Amanda and I had a small thing a few years back.”

  “Really! This is none of my business. I’ll just take off now.”

  Amanda grabbed my arm. “Please don’t say anything to anyone, especially my uncle,” she said.

  “No. I won’t,” I said soothingly. “Well, I’ll be off. Thanks for showing me the tool, Amanda.”

  I stepped down, noting the dead silence behind me. The door shut behind me, and I hurried back to my RV.

  The handsome and dashing Ranger Jackson is taken, I presume, Ben said.

  “Something like that,” I responded. I had to admit to a bit of disappointment, but my surprise far outweighed that emotion.

  The plot thickens, Ben said.

  “You love to say that, don’t you?” I reached my RV and stepped in.

  It seems apt.

  I dropped down on the couch and tried to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. Sometimes Ben’s presence in my head helped me sort out thoughts, and sometimes he cluttered them even more. I hoped this was one of the times he helped with clarity.

  Can we assume that Ranger Jackson and young Amanda had an affair, probably while working together in the Yellowstone wilderness?

  “Yes, that seems to be about right,” I said.

  Do you think her husband knew about it?

  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure that’s relevant. After all, John didn’t kill someone in a fit of jealousy. He was the one who was killed.”

  It might be pertinent if he discovered the affair and abused his wife because of it.

  “So, you’re saying it’s possible that John’s recent abuse of Amanda was due to jealousy, and that maybe Jackson killed him, or even Amanda, I guess, because of the abuse?”

  It is possible. Perhaps Jackson or Amanda sought to remove the deceased as an impediment to their happily-ever-after future.

  “Couldn’t she just divorce him?”

  Yes, that is much more common in your day, is it not? Highly unusual in my time. Marriage was eternal for most.

  “Interminable for some, I would think,” I said with a shudder. I hadn’t been married since my divorce in my early twenties, said divorce being a youthful mistake on my part.

  Had I met you and married you in my time, we would not have divorced, Ben said out of the blue.

  My cheeks burned. The soft caress in his voice caught me off guard.

  I can’t imagine leaving you if you were alive, Ben. I cleared my throat and refocused.

  “Back to the romance between Jackson and Amanda. If it was Jackson who had been murdered in a fit of jealousy, then this would all make sense. But why kill John? Again, why not divorce?”

  Perhaps it was Jackson alone who killed him. It might be that the widow Amanda did not wish to leave her husband, that she did not know Jackson killed him. That she still does not know.

  “Maybe,” I mused. “That handsome guy,” I said on a sigh. “A killer?”

  Many handsome men have killed, Minerva.

  “I know,” I sighed.

  He has the knowledge to simulate a bear attack.

  “Well, Amanda sure has the tool. Did you see that thing? How sharp the claws were on it? Even if it’s a sturdy plastic, that could do some harm to a neck.”

  Yes, it could. It appears to have been designed to resemble a bear’s claws.

  I nodded.

  “It’s not like I saw blood dripping all over it or anything, but I didn’t want to get my fingerprints on it.”

  No. Since you insist on sleuthing, albeit denying that you do, I read some passages in the book you purchased regarding forensics…those that you left open as I am not able to turn pages. I found the discussion of fingerprints quite fascinating.

  “Ben! Let me know if you want to read something. I could leave my computer open or a book open. I don’t think I realized that you couldn’t turn pages. Of course, you can’t.”

  Thank you. I will in future.

  “Okay, well, what about the uncle? He certainly sounded like he hated John.”

  Yes, he is suspect.

  “I guess we could wait and see if he kills Jackson in a simulated bear attack.” I only half smiled. “Then we’ll know, right?”

  Your thoughts are leaning toward the macabre, Minerva.

  “I know. I’m just tired. No sleep last night, and I’m not sure I’m going to sleep tonight. Should I be calling the authorities or something? I don’t really have any evidence one way or the other that any of these people killed John.”

  It seems premature to alert the authorities. As always, they have their work to do as well. Perhaps they can solve this mystery.

  I nodded again. A yawn split my face in two.

  “Let’s not forget Rick Cannon. I wouldn’t think of a senior gentleman as a violent killer, but who knows. It’s interesting that he didn’t tell me John was the one who didn’t close the trail at Yellowstone, that he considered John a murderer.”

  Yes, he certainly had motive and probably the means. It is not implausible that he has a meat claw device much like Amanda’s.

  “No, I guess he could! He sure was angry enough tonight to do John in.”

  I thought about making my way to bed, but the couch seemed comfortable enough. I hadn’t eaten in a while, but I wasn’t hungry. I did need to get up and brush my teeth though. I pushed myself off the couch and headed for the bathroom.

  “
Hey, Ben!” I called as if he somehow remained in the other room, and maybe he did. I wasn’t sure if he came into the bathroom with me, but I knew he was an honorable man, and I suspected he allowed me my privacy.

  Yes?

  “What about that loner guy, the one on the bike. The one that Rick mentioned?”

  What of him?

  “Well, he sounds like sort of a transient guy. He might have killed John just because. Didn’t Rick say his clothes were stained and that he smelled metallic? Could that have been dried blood?”

  You do not think that is a remote possibility? We do not know that he had a connection to John, and the idea of killing randomly seems foreign to me.

  “We have a lot of crazies in the world, Ben, and they kill for pleasure.”

  We would need more information on this person.

  “First thing in the morning, I’ll go scope him out.”

  Scope him out? Ben repeated.

  “You know, check him out. Find out about him. Snoop. Sleuth.”

  Ah! Sleuthing.

  “That’s right. I’m doing it…loud and proud.”

  ****

  I waited until a decent hour the next morning to seek out the young man in the tent. I made my way over to the loop that housed most of the tent campers. I wondered, seeing so many tents, if I would be able to find him. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him, and knew only that he had a tent and a bike.

  After an hour of searching throughout the loops, I finally spied a site near my own loop which held a small blue pup tent and an older bike, fully loaded with a motley assortment of bags, some plastic. I had seen this sort of traveler before, almost always struggling up some steep mountain highway, heavy bags on either side of the bike weighing them down. I didn’t know if folks traveled this way by necessity or because they preferred to live off the grid, but it seemed like a hard way to go.

  “Well, what now?” I whispered to Ben. “Do I just barge in and say, ‘Hey, I was wondering if you’re a murderer, and if so, why?’”

  He is within the tent, Minerva, and appears to be dozing. Other than soiled clothing and bedding, I see nothing particularly ominous about him. He does appear to be in need of bathing and grooming. However, we know nothing about him, and I renew my pleas to you to avoid this stranger.